


Spectre & Duende

by maivalkov



Series: EngSpaWeek2018 [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Antonio and Arthur are museum thieves, Antonio's just as bad, Arthur's a perv but can you blame him, Bondage, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maivalkov/pseuds/maivalkov
Summary: Antonio thought he had it all. By day he was a talented dancer, living in his best friend’s cafe, and by night he was Duende, thief extraordinaire. With his charms and quick feet he went from rumour to legend fast, but in turn he became hopelessly blind.He did not care for the police, or the media, and in his arrogance he failed to notice Spectre; a new thief fiercely determined to make his acquaintance.(Written for EngSpaWeek2018, on this jolly EngSpaDay.)





	Spectre & Duende

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, the final stage of EngSpaWeek2018. I'm pretty chuffed I managed to contribute to every day, and sincerely hope you enjoy reading this massive, smutty finale.
> 
>  This one's especially for you, Pindanglicious. Your Spuk content is beautiful, accurate, and we owe you a lot for running such an incredible week. Thanks for all the great prompts, and feedback too. It's been amazing.

* * *

 

_It begins with a stamp, then a clap. The tempo rises, tension heightens, and without realising the trap is set. I forget all about policing -my purpose- and move to an erratic beat. The chase is a dance, the gallery our stage, and as the rhythm hits its peak he is gone. Along with the priceless gem._

 “Incredible.” Francis deadpanned, pacing over to Antonio’s bed. Without warning he slapped a dozing Antonio over the head with his newspaper, then held it out for him to see. “Wake up, you’ve made the news again."

“You’ve interrupted siesta.” Antonio reminded him groggily. Before he could take the paper however Francis whipped it right back, and opened it to the relevant page.

“They're calling you Duende: The passionate thief. The man who could steal the heart of Madrid with one step.”

“Obviously that’s a lie.” Antonio laughed. “But I’d like to try.”

Francis conveyed his lack of approval in his native tongue, and continued to scan the article. Antonio - _Duende-_ had only commenced his life of crime two and a half years ago, and already he had garnered a fanbase. The police thought him fascinating, and infuriating, whilst the public awaited further scandals with bated breaths. They took to the romance, the image of the graceful thief, with great interest, which worried the Spanish government to no end.

Duende gave new rise to the love of dance, and the arts. People sang songs, wrote books, and there was even a play about his earlier crimes. Academics researched his patterns, his mindset, and published theories on the man behind the mask. The incubus of the criminal world.

“I think you should lay low for a while.” Francis advised. “The police are taking you seriously.”

“As they should-”

“It is not funny!” Francis pressed, whacking Antonio with the paper once more. “Every flamenco dancer in Spain is facing interrogation because you insist on wearing your noisy little shoes, and writhing your body in front of the police!”

“But it’s also the perfect disguise, no?” Antonio smirked, stretching out along his bed with a soft yawn. “Everybody dances, professionally or not. You would have to question the entirety of Spain before they find the right man.”

“Or one could examine things from a different angle.”

To that Antonio quirked a brow, and dropped his earlier arrogance. To prove his point Francis flipped through the next couple of pages, then set the tabloid open on his bed. His index finger hovered at first, then settled upon an image in the middle; a plain white business card, with a bold 'S' in it’s centre.

“With your methods, and talents, you are a jewel amongst the cesspit of thieves. But you are not the only one who excels in your industry.” Francis hissed, jabbing his finger harder against the page. “The Spectre has torn ‘is way through Britain and France, and now he comes to Spain.”

“I don’t care about him.”

“You should.” Francis warned. “Because ‘e is on the prowl for you.”

That revelation actually enticed Antonio to care, just a little, and glance at the business card in question. Everything about it, from the old fashioned font, to the lack of personality, rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and made him hate it's owner more than ever.

The Spectre was stiff and boring. So far his career had only spanned one year, making him a novice at best, and Antonio would be surprised if he continued for much longer. His crimes were meticulously planned _, predictable,_ and his habit of leaving calling cards was so cliche it made Antonio sick.

“Isn’t it time for the cafe to reopen?” Antonio mumbled, changing the topic altogether. To Francis’s annoyance he was absolutely right, leaving him no choice but to abandon the conversation, and head down to work.

 

* * *

 

 “It’s a wonder we get any business.” Francis admitted later on, setting a well polished spoon inside the cutlery draw. True enough his cafe was well hidden, practically shoved in the armpit of Barcelona where no tourist would ever reach. Even the locals struggled to find it, but when they did they were delighted, and ensured to visit in the future.

“Your decor could use some rethinking.” Antonio proposed. He sat on a stool on the other side of the counter, and eyed the cafe in full. From the red velvet curtains, leather seating, and distressed dark wood interiors, everything seemed downright odd. All of the china and machinery were sought from antique fairs, and upon the farthest wall sat masks from all across the globe.

Antonio had actually worn a handful of them during his missions, but after almost damaging one Francis threatened to kick him out of their shared home, unless he found a more suitable disguise. In the end he opted for the practical, easy solution: a soft, black, newspaper boy cap to hide his hair, and an eye mask for added flair.

“I think it’s fine.” Francis replied, and that was that. With a gentle sigh, he readied himself for several hours of peace, and no business, when all of a sudden the little bell above the door rang sweet, and a man boldly wandered on through.

“Afternoon.” He announced first, tipping his flat cap in polite greeting. “A pot of tea, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Francis shot back. “As long as you pay.”

The man’s lips split into an eerie smile. His initial gentlemanly facade slipped in its entirety, and his green eyes embodied a spark of rage, or ill intent. It did not take a genius to realise he was British, from his mannerisms, to the stuffy, tailored nature of his clothes, nor did it take Antonio long to occupy himself with the newspaper, and leave the pair of them to it.

“What brings you ‘ere, Mister…?”

“Arthur Kirkland.” The man replied, and set his brown leather briefcase on the counter. “I’m a freelance writer in desperate need a damn good cuppa.”

“Ohh la la.” Francis chimed. “What do you write?”

Arthur grunted, and scratched the back of his head. “Anything and everything, really. I’m currently investigating the hype behind the museum thefts across Europe.”

“You hear that?” Francis gawked, speaking to Antonio in particular. “He’s like us.”

“Mmn.” Antonio grunted, never looking up from the newspaper. The latest article about Duende had caught his undivided attention, namely the elaborate manner of which the journalist described his dancing.

“Ah. I read that earlier on.” Arthur piped up from over Antonio’s shoulder. “It’s interesting.”

At last, Antonio’s gaze left the tabloid. He watched Arthur clamber onto the stool beside him, and grumbled when he set a hand upon the paper, and dragged it close so he could get a better look. Apparently he gave no damn about personal space, or respected his belongings, and simply shot Antonio a cheeky smile, before examining the double page spread.

“Your Duende fellow is certainly something.” He chuckled, leaning in close. “I hear he moves with such fluid grace, and control... But he's more like a deadly serpent, than a creature to be admired.”

“That’s rather harsh.” Antonio countered.

“He’s a criminal.” Arthur retaliated with good reason. When Francis set down his pot of tea he paid him with a handful of coins, and warm thanks, then got straight back to the stern faced Antonio. “D’you reckon he is deserving of all this praise? All the productions and applause he receives?”

“I don’t see why not.” Antonio snorted. “He’s creative with his work.”

“He’s a tart.” Arthur laughed hard, and caused Francis to splutter on his cup of coffee. “The daft bugger is fortunate to be operating in Spain. If he were to wriggle and stamp his feet like that in front of English police he’d be locked in a cell as we speak.”

Antonio’s mood, and expression, turned dark. He glared at the stupid business card Francis had shown him in the paper, and then directed his rage to Arthur.

“Well what about this _Spectre_ of yours?”

“What about him?” Arthur asked innocently, and raised his tea cup to his lips. That in itself was frustrating, but for the sake of Francis and his cafe, Antonio restrained the urge to batter Mr. Kirkland senseless.

“You say Duende behaves like a tart. A snake.” Antonio began. “But the Spectre is- how should I put it… bland?”

Arthur narrowed his gaze. Something about the remark irked him personally, and caused his eyebrow to twitch.

“Spectre is a gentleman thief.” He explained, sitting up with a dignified air. “He steals from scum who abuse art. No one else.”

“That’s still a crime.”

“But a brilliant one.” Arthur continued. “He is careful, concise-”

“He’s boring.” Antonio huffed. “That gentleman image has been done countless times.”

“That’s no bad thing.”

Antonio begged to differ. With a groan he propped an elbow against the bar, and set his chin upon his hand. “The Spectre also relies too much on his plans. Hell I’m sure he can’t function without them.”

“Come now, that’s rude.” Francis cut in.

“It’s the truth!” Antonio snapped. “I doubt he can get out of bed without a blueprint, and probably has to research the entire human body before he can give his lovers any pleasure.”

“You’re not a fan then?” Arthur jibed.

“Far from it.” Antonio declared, hopping down from his stool. “Enjoy your investigation, and your  _cuppa_ , Mister Kirkland.”

“I-”

“Leave ‘im.” Francis interrupted as Arthur made to reply. When Antonio got in one of his moods there was simply no changing him, and neither man spoke until he was out of sight.

“I overstepped the line.” Arthur stated.

“He’s sensitive.” Francis laughed, listening to Antonio stomping his way through the back, and towards the basement stairs.

 

* * *

 

 “Fucking English bastard.” Antonio scowled, standing in the centre of his basement turned dance studio. He straightened his posture in the reflection of the mirror wall, and stamped his flamenco boot with a resounding, satisfying clack.

Antonio did not like Arthur Kirkland one bit. He was bitter, yet smug. Scruffy, yet handsome, and spoke of Spectre and Duende as if he had a single, damn, clue. If he had known the truth of their encounter, that he had just insulted Duende himself, Arthur might have shown some respect. And if he didn’t Antonio would correct him on his manners, and swiftly set about removing his tongue.

Worst of all, Antonio should have been at ease within the studio. He was finally alone to practice his footwork, and yet all Antonio could think of was that Brit. With his rugged, charming face, and his unwanted, ridiculous opinions. He made Antonio doubt every step, every turn, and wonder if Arthur’s words held any truth.

Perhaps he did look like a tart, standing tall with his pert, shapely arse, but that was hardly Antonio’s fault. Dance sculpted his body, his mind, and his lifestyle. The more he thought on it, dance was everything, and he would not stop for the sake of one, uneducated idiot.

 

* * *

 

 The following morning Francis did not open his cafe, as per usual. Instead he took a temporary strike, and skimmed through the newspaper with increasing concern.

The Spectre had attacked a local museum last night, making him far too close for anyone’s comfort. The headlines were bold, alarming, and they handled the foreign convict with fear, much unlike the sultry, mystery of Duende.

To make matters worse the police had entered a frenzy like no other. All of the dance companies had received calling cards after his theft, demanding Duende show his face, and arrests were being made without proper care, or investigation.

In the space of one night Barcelona had plunged headfirst into madness, and it was entirely Antonio’s fault. He held no worries as he plodded downstairs to the cafe for breakfast, and merely chuckled upon noticing the strain on Francis’s face.

“Someone looks stressed.”

“But of course!” Francis screeched, brandishing the newspaper with despair. “You are being targeted by the Spectre!”

“You said somethin’ like that yesterday.” Antonio shrugged. “What of it?”

“ _What of it?”_ Francis repeated, utterly appalled. In his anger he slapped the tabloid to the counter, and stomped over to lazy, dismissive Antonio. “The most dangerous, cunning mind of Europe is fixated upon meeting you, and he does not care how he goes about it!”

“Well he is a criminal.”

“You need to take this seriously.” Francis pleaded, grabbing hold of his upper arms. “Innocent people are being accused because of you, and this awful Spectre. You must seek him out at once, and put an end to this nonsense!”

Antonio considered it for a moment, but no longer. “I have a job lined up later on this week.”

“ _Antonio-_ ”

“It’s perfect.” Antonio reasoned. “Whilst the Spectre causes chaos in the city, all the media and authorities shall focus on him, not me.”

Francis sighed. “That’s true but-”

“Let me do this one job, and then I’ll see him.” Antonio promised in a kinder, genuine tone. With that said Francis took him on his word, released his hold, and paced around the other side of the counter.

“I’ll make us some coffee then.”

“Thank you.” Antonio replied, getting comfortable on his favourite stool.

 

* * *

  
  
  
 True to Antonio’s word, the Spectre hype blew out of control by the end of the week. The papers were divided on whether he was good, or bad, whilst rabid Duende fans slated him with relentless might. They loved their enigma, and his dance, and no one wished to see him unmasked.

The arrests, in turn, had become something of a marvel. The police did their utmost to be thorough, but as expected no man or women could deliver what they wanted. Time and time again they failed to find Duende, whilst Spectre became increasingly impatient, and sent calling cards out en masse.

By now all of Barcelona was akin to a party, and ironically only Antonio was not invited. Their cafe received no calling card, leaving flamenco Cinderella free to avoid the Spectre’s ball, and focus on his next exciting heist.

 

* * *

 

 “It should be here somewhere…” Antonio uttered beneath his breath, pacing the marvellous gallery. His next victim was an exhibition of historical jewellery from across the world, and needless to say he was not stuck for choice. In the glow of the moonlight all of the cabinets sparkled and enticed, beckoning for his attention.  

Antonio wanted the sapphires, the rubies, and the jade. He adored the hefty bejewelled necklace set in a cabinet all of its own, and studied its gemstones with an enamoured groan. Each jewel could fetch a lovely price on their own, but sold together he would be set for life. He could give half the money to Francis, to help sustain his cafe, and the rest would go to holidays, clothes, and all manner of selfish delights.

He could even set up a dance studio abroad, if he wanted, but all the while Duende brought him fame, and success, that plan would have to wait. For now he would venture on, past that glorious necklace, to the object he planned to swipe: The Spine of Aphrodite.

According to the handy guide Antonio had taken from the reception desk, the Spine of Aphrodite was a rare prize indeed. A fine black cane, with a thin line of pearls trailing along the shaft. The handle was formed from a cluster of rubies, and at its centre sat a clean white diamond. According to all of its critics it was a beauty to behold, but it was also English, Antonio noted with much regret.

Perhaps he was bitter, and stubborn, but everything since Arthur’s visit seemed to revolve around that godforsaken spit of land. The streets were alive with the buzz of Spectre, and Duende, and the press took to the drama in full. Reporters from the UK set up camp wherever Spectre was due to strike, and even tourists were flocking to see him, rather than the wonderful architecture the city had to offer.

In no less than a week, Spectre had claimed the city for his own, whilst Arthur boldly seized Antonio’s mind. He appeared in the most erotic, inconvenient of dreams, and left Antonio a sweaty, panting mess come morning. He wanted the man on his knees, or inside of him, and had to settle for fucking his own hand, whilst pretending it was Arthur’s lips.

“Bastard.” Antonio grumbled, shoving the guidebook in his jacket pocket. Arthur Kirkland would be his downfall, and the end of Duende, if he did not get over his infatuation soon. Already his excitement had been killed, for even as he gazed upon his target in its cabinet, he felt none of the usual thrill. To be honest he was fed up, bored, and considered forgetting the theft altogether.

“What am I doing…?” He sighed, turning his back to the cabinet. Antonio was so close to the cane he could taste it. “I should- fuck it, I need to take it and go-”

Or at least he would have, if the cane were still there. In what felt like no more than half a second the Spine of Aphrodite had been snatched, and in its place sat a small white card.

“Fuck no.” Antonio gasped, staring at the dreaded 'S' in its centre. He wanted to flee, or scream, but his body would permit neither. Instead they betrayed him entirely, and his attention shot to the nearby padded leather bench, where a figure -Spectre- sat utterly at peace.

From top to toe Spectre was dressed in black; a three piece suit, tailored coat, and a pair of well buffed brogues upon his feet. In his leather clad hands he held the Spine of Aphrodite, and atop his head sat a matching black flat cap. Attractive as it was, the whole ensemble contrasted the white of Spectre’s skin, and to Antonio’s absolute terror, his familiar scruffy blond hair.

“ _Arthur…?_ ”

The name came out without realising. Antonio almost wanted to kill himself for doing so, but when Spectre raised his head up sharp, revealing those stupid thick eyebrows, his suspicions were confirmed. After that however Spectre, and Arthur, said nothing, as if choking on his own surprise.

“I-It really is you.” Arthur exclaimed, rising from his seat. He slapped his free hand to his face, muffling his excitement, and gazed upon Antonio with shaky breaths. “I had my suspicions in that French bloke’s cafe but- that voice. I know it. It’s you, isn’t it Duende?”

Antonio resigned himself to fate. Without a word he plucked his own cap off his head, along with his eye mask, and gave Arthur a reluctant shrug. He did his best to suppress his own alarm, and struggled with the lingering, lustful urges that were swelling in his stomach.

He wanted Arthur badly enough as a man, but as a thief -as Spectre- he became overwhelmingly appealing. The leather bench as well became of interest, and sent Antonio’s mind reeling with desire. He pictured them naked in the moonlight, a tangle of limbs and passionate tongues. He wanted Arthur to screw him until his legs became useless, and preferably spank him with that cane, so that when he sold it on he still recalled its imprint on his arse, and the bite upon his skin.

“Forgive me.” Arthur interrupted, tearing him rudely from his dreams. “It appears I am at a disadvantage, what with you knowing both of my identities. Might I have your name?”

Antonio cleared his throat, pushing back his lewd images, then turned up his nose. “Antonio.”

Arthur found himself repeating his name like a spell, and his smile grew wider than before. “That’s wonderful-”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Antonio hissed, clenching his fist. “Spectre sent a calling card to the modern art museum, not here.”

“Yes.” Arthur accepted with a nod. “But how else would I be able to see you?”

Antonio swallowed hard. Arthur meanwhile returned to the bench, and rolled the Spine of Aphrodite in his gentle, gloved hands.

“What d’you mean, see me?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Arthur replied, slapping the cane against his open palm. The visual was enough to stun Antonio in his horny silence, and slowly uncurl his fist.

“Explain. Now.” Antonio breathed.

“I told you, I had my suspicions ever since we met.” Arthur began. “Not at first, mind you, but the way you riled up so fast when I insulted Duende, and how you moved across the room. I recognised it right away.”

“That’s not possible.” Antonio challenged. “My anger back then could have been nothing, and the same goes for my body language. Plenty of people have studied Duende’s moves, and even when the police visited several months back for a drink, they never suspected me in the slightest. Not when I walked, and not when when Francis let slip that I was a promising flamenco dancer.”

“The police aren’t the same as me.” Arthur stated matter of factly, in a tone much darker than Antonio expected. Shortly after he slapped the cane back to his palm, then glared straight ahead into the distance. “They don’t know you like I do, or that without Duende, Spectre would cease to exist.”

Antonio’s eyes grew wide. “... I don’t understand.”

“Sit, and I’ll explain.” Arthur encouraged, grateful when Antonio complied.

 

* * *

 

 To Antonio’s secret delight, the leather bench was well cushioned, _soft_. It moulded to his arse with ease, and once settled Arthur cleared his throat, ready to proceed.

“You might be wondering how I stole this so fast.” He spoke, gesturing to the cane in his hold. Amidst Antonio’s loud, internal thoughts he confessed he had forgotten all about it, but was glad to hear Arthur reveal all.

“Go on.”

“D’you believe in magic? And the occult?” Arthur probed.

Antonio shrugged. “I don’t think you swiped that without the use of something… supernatural, if that’s any help.”

Arthur’s face creased into a kind smile. “I’ve had strange talents since I was a kid. Done things I could never explain… and it upset my strict, religious parents something fierce.”

“Yeah well don’t advertise that round here.” Antonio mocked. “Spain’s not forgiving with witchcraft either.”

“You’re right!” Arthur barked with a loud laugh, and threw his head back fast. For a minute Antonio permitted him his amusement, and once finished Arthur wiped a tear from his eye, and continued.

“Anyway… I’ll keep the rest short.” He resumed, and his stern front returned. “My parents became delirious, afraid. And one winter’s night Arthur became an orphan. Relatives reckoned I was a curse, refused to take me in, and so I wound up at a shitty orphanage in the backstreets of London.”

“I’m sorry.” Antonio gasped. “That must have been awful.”

“But it helped.” Arthur continued, forever optimistic. “I used to scare the bullies with my powers, and when I was old enough to leave I developed a name on the streets as a magician, and a con artist. I learnt how to steal from a man standing across the other side of the road, and turned my supposed curse into a brilliant way of making money.”

“I started with mugging, myself.” Antonio confessed, relaxed in Arthur’s company. “I wanted to dance, but couldn’t afford any of the big schools. Then I- well…”

“You got hooked on the thrill of stealing?”

Antonio nodded, and Arthur flashed a charming grin. He set the cane down shortly after, and slapped a hand to Antonio’s thigh. “I completely understand. It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes.” Antonio agreed, glancing to the hand. He wanted it higher, harder, firmly rubbing between his legs. “Anyway, what was all that about Duende and Spectre?”

“Ah yes, of course. We got sidetracked.” Arthur snorted, giving Antonio’s thigh a squeeze. Unfortunately it never rose, as Antonio hoped, but he shuddered at the gentle pressure of his touch. The next time Arthur turned away he would close his eyes and picture the rest, whilst praying his groin never conveyed his desires.

“That all started about a year and a half ago.” Arthur relayed, blissfully unaware of Antonio’s hormones. “I was becoming tired of street work, and knew I could do better. I researched local thieves, crimes of old, and then I came across an article about you. A Spanish outlaw who stole in the dead of night without calling cards, weapons, or a threat.”

“Mm.” Antonio hummed, somewhat preoccupied with Arthur’s lingering hand. “You jealous?”

“Of course.” Arthur confessed, to his surprise. “True to the nature of Duende itself, you were enchanting. You have a pull over minds that I cannot comprehend, even with these wretched powers of mine.”

“What’re you saying?” Antonio suddenly scoffed. “You think we’re the same?”

“I thought so, at first.” Arthur admitted. “But the fact that you don’t possess such abilities, and achieved all that with what you have… I respect that.”

“You called me a tart.” Antonio snapped, recalling their cafe encounter. During his brief moment of anger Arthur drew back his hand, and gazed upon him with sheer regret.

“I didn't mean that. Not at all. I just-”

“You what?!”

“I did it because I loved you!” Arthur blurted, rendering Antonio more hopeless and lost than ever before. It was an outburst far beyond his imagination, or comprehension, and yet Antonio found his heart skipping in joy, and his breaths turn quick and sharp.

“Y-You _loved_ me?”

“Still do.” Arthur bit his lip, and hung his head. “I saw a clip online once, police footage from one of your earlier thefts. They showed your dance, and your escape, and I thought the whole thing was beautiful. That _you_ were beautiful.”

“You didn’t have a clue who I was.” Antonio argued. “That was just an image!”

“But it’s _you_!” Arthur shot back. “I realised that in the cafe as well, as you stormed off. You held that power, that _d_ _uende_ , and ever since then I’ve been trying to get to you alone, so I could talk and-”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Antonio sighed, trying to hide his joy.

“I know, and I’m sorry!” Arthur agreed, grasping for breath. “I-I was a bloody, stupid fool. If I had known who you were sooner none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have caused so many arrests, and the police wouldn’t be gathered on the other side of Barcelona, awaiting the Spectre’s arrival.”

At last, everything had fallen into place. The police and media were well and truly fooled, Spectre had found Duende, and they were free to roam the city without concern. If time would permit it, Antonio would have asked how he did it. How he figured out his location, but alas it would have to wait. Morning would be upon them soon enough, but before then Antonio planned on having his way.

It was probably his last chance to get Arthur’s full attention, and he would be damned if he let it go to waste.

“So what next?” Antonio practically purred, shuffling close. “You have me, and my cane-” He added, pointing to the Spine of Aphrodite. “And I would very much like it back so I can leave.”

“Leave?”

Arthur slowly blinked, staring at the object in his grasp. All of a sudden his eyes were sinister, dark,and he bore the same smirk he had back then. When he arrived in Francis’s cafe. It was the same smile which buckled Antonio’s knees, and stole his breath. He wriggled in suspense when Arthur bent down to grab his black leather briefcase, and as it clicked open Antonio held back a moan.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Arthur commanded, a stark contrast to the stammering idiot from before. When he turned his briefcase Antonio was delighted to find an array of cuffs and toys, alongside items he hoped to understand in the very near future.

“How interesting.” Antonio laughed, stifling his arousal. “What on earth do you expect me to do with all them?”

“I expect you to strip, lay down and do whatever I say.” Arthur commanded, rising to his feet. “After that, you’re free to go. Understand?”

By the time he finished Antonio was already halfway out of his jacket, which was about as good as saying yes.

 

* * *

 

 “Raise your hips. That’s it.” Arthur whispered softly, tracing circles over Antonio’s lower back. He watched his spine dip under the gentle touch, and with some effort Antonio obeyed, moaning as his chest rubbed against the leather bench.

Being the smug, arrogant tease that he was, Arthur had spent a good half an hour toying with his nipples first. Sucking, pinching, and grabbing at them as if they were a pair of women’s tits. Once satisfied he applied a soothing balm, which Antonio inwardly respected, but as Antonio lay on his front, with arms bound behind him in big leather cuffs, he realised Arthur’s actual intentions. That the balm was not there to soothe, but stimulate. In a matter of seconds every touch, every grope -even the texture of the bench- had him gasping, and his body tingling and writhing in pure ecstasy.

“Y-You’re a real bastard... you know that?”

“I know, love.” Arthur replied, smirking against the soft curves of his arse. Those too had been smacked pink with bare, and leather clad hands, and when Antonio made to retort further Arthur dragged the flat of his tongue across his entrance, and relished in the moan of surprise.

“Don’t you fucking dare! That’s disgusting!” Antonio yelled for the sake of his pride, but he could not bring himself to stop Arthur's pursuit. A lubed finger joined Arthur’s tongue afterwards, and both dipped as deep inside him as possible. They mocked and probed when he tried to complain, and even when Arthur pulled back, two fingers remained, lulling him into a pleasured stupor.

“A-Arthur…”

“I’m here love.” Arthur replied sweetly, leaning over to give his cheek a soft kiss. His free hand found its way in Antonio’s hair, caressing it whilst he curled two fingers in his arse, and sent his partner mewling in pleasure.

“Fuck me already. Please…!”

“Soon.” Arthur promised, giving him another kiss. A third finger entered Antonio next, and it was at that point that Arthur glanced to his cock, the one place he had yet to touch. The poor thing was aching, red, and dripping all over the bench. Whenever Antonio tried to close his legs, or grind it to the seat for friction Arthur had punished him with a smack, and ordered him to raise his hips up high.

“I-I can’t.” Antonio panted out of nowhere, writhing his hips with tightly closed eyes. In minutes he was ruined, trembling, and a thin trail of saliva ran down the corner of his mouth. He wanted his release, in every sense, and fortunately Arthur felt like obliging.

Without warning Arthur removed his fingers, and his own clothes followed suit. His eyes glazed over with heat, but he made sure to treat Antonio well, and free him from his cuffs. Everything was gentle, considered, and once Antonio was laid upon his back, smiling and wriggling with want, Arthur decided to push along.

“How d’you want this?”

“I don’t care, as long as you’re in me.” Antonio breathed huskily, and brought a finger up to pinch at a nipple. Soon after he ran his tongue across soft, pink lips, and shot Arthur a smouldering stare. “Make it something to remember, _Spectre._ ”

Arthur almost buried himself in Antonio right there. But that would never do. He was supposed to be in control, and there was just one more thing he wanted to discuss.

“Can you stand?”

“Of course.” Antonio giggled, stretching both legs with grace. It was a better answer than any, Arthur figured, and without further ado led Antonio off the bench, to the wall at the very end.

“T-That’s a window.” Antonio gulped, staring at the vast pane of glass. Beyond it lay the museum gardens, which were bathed in an ugly white spotlight, but the implication of it all sent him shivering in utmost approval.

“What’s the fun in thieving, if there’s no risks?” Arthur teased, gesturing with a hand. “Now go on, up against the glass.”

Antonio obeyed with a strangled sound of appreciation. The leather seat had become too hot, and suffocating after some time, so the cool bite of the glass was most welcome. In fact it only heightened the sensations further, and caused Antonio to groan deeper, and needier than ever.

“Fuck me, please?”

“Soon.” Arthur repeated, to his frustration. He moved behind him until their bodies were pressed flush, and had the nerve to rub his dick between Antonio’s arse cheeks, and moan praises into the skin of his neck.

“W-We need to talk business, love.”

“ _Now?!”_ Antonio shrieked. “What the hell can you possibly need at this precise moment?!”

“I need to know where we go from here.” Arthur explained coolly, as if he was not using Antonio’s arse to masturbate. “We know one another’s identities, our pasts, and that is quite… confidential information.”

“O-Oh for the love of-” Antonio wheezed, squealing when Arthur started to stroke his cock. “W-What d’you want?!”

“I want us to unite. Form a partnership.”

“What?!”

Arthur sucked hard on Antonio’s neck, enough to leave a decent mark. “Spectre and Duende will operate together from now on. Since our talents coincide I shouldn’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Antonio could not disagree there, but getting screwed senseless was much higher on his list of priorities. “Fine, fine! We’ll do it!”

“Truly?” Arthur asked with intrigue. “I’m not saying one of us is better than the other, nor will I try to lead you-”

“Arthur fucking Kirkland.” Antonio hissed, turning his head. “I have agreed to your terms, now finish the job or so help me I will rip off your penis and feed it to the guard dogs!!”

“I love you.” Arthur chuckled darkly, obliging him with one hard thrust. His pace was rabid, almost sloppy in places, but it was everything Antonio hoped for. Arthur was downright strange, and stiff lipped like most Brits he had encountered, but in the height of love he turned wild. Free. A beast for Antonio alone.

“L-Love you too.” He eventually replied, craning his head to give Arthur a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 When morning came, and sunlight flooded the streets of Barcelona, everything changed. The Spectre had never shown his face that night, and the newspapers spoke highly of their disappointment. Some writers claimed he was a fraud, whilst others insisted he never existed. All arrests of dancers were likewise branded null and void, and the police then turned to the UK reporters, accusing them of tricking Europe with their make-believe villain.

Suffice to say, Antonio and Francis knew the truth. The Spectre was very real, and made no delay in moving into the cafe, and Antonio’s bed. The Spine of Aphrodite earnt them enough to feast like kings for the next hundred years, whilst Francis took a well earned holiday, leaving Antonio and Arthur free to enjoy several weeks of peace.

“Let’s train.” Arthur would say, his code for erotic affairs. He took Antonio over the counter once during siesta, banged him in the comfort of the armchairs, and even strung him up in the middle of his dance studio, for an afternoon neither of them would ever forget. Simply put Arthur was a blasted pervert, like Antonio, and both had the stamina to see their fantasies through.

After months of endless, ridiculous sex, and pissing Francis off, the legends of Spectre and Duende came to an end. They shut the door on an era of dancing, and crap callings cards, to unleash a hell unlike any other.

The media called them scandalous, _scum._ They raided museums only to fuck against anything which they failed to consider art, and then steal the few things which did take their interest. In the end they were branded sexual anarchists. Demons set upon destroying all sense of order.

From Spain, back to England, and France they went. In Austria they almost got caught, and laughed about it, until they arrived in innocent, well intentioned Italy, for the next chapter in their lewd, rebellious tale.

 

* * *

 

 “Steady… steady… there we are.” Arthur whispered to himself, setting the glass panel back in place. Once again he had successfully disabled the alarm, and the cabinet, and in his pocket sat a beautiful rock. One of the largest rubies known to man.

Upon ensuring the glass was secure he finally took it back out for inspection, turning it in his hand. Sure enough it held a lovely glow in the moonlight, and if it weren’t for the sudden, familiar stamp from across the room, Arthur could have admired the gem all night.

“Oh.” He laughed, putting the ruby away. “Sorry about that love.”

Antonio growled, unable to do much else. He shook his torso, then his head, but the chains about his waist held him firmly to the white stone pillar. His wrists were bound high above his head, and his ankles were parted with a metal bar.

“You look stunning.” Arthur praised, wandering to his irritable love. With Duende out of the picture Arthur figured it was time for change, starting with his clothes. He somehow convinced Antonio into a black leather catsuit, but kept the flamenco boots, and the decision suited them both just fine. The clothing hugged Antonio’s body in every way he wanted, and the multiple zips enabled Arthur to claim him in even the briefest of moments.

That said, Antonio did not approve of the need for a gag ball. His glare turned severe as Arthur approached, and it was a wonder that he did not bite Arthur's hand the second he removed the gag from his mouth.

“Y-You are such a bastard.” He stuttered, trying to arch away from the pillar. Down below the telltale buzz of a vibrator rang clear, and thanks to his outfit the damn thing stayed nestled in his arse. Even when Antonio tried to wriggle away it stuck firm, and as he pushed against the pillar he accidentally forced the dreaded toy in further, and sent himself mewling and twisting in bliss.

“But you seem to be having fun.” Arthur observed calmly. With a thoughtful hum he tugged at two zips on either side of Antonio’s chest, and licked his lips when his nipples were exposed. He gave each one a tender kiss, as if greeting them after a long day’s work, then pressed his lips to Antonio’s own, gaping mouth.

“T-Take it out.” Antonio pleaded, writhing in heat. “I-I want you.”

“I’m busy.” Arthur replied, and lowered his gaze. Antonio’s groin had swelled deliciously under such assault, and strained against the leather of his catsuit. It threw him through the spectrum of pleasure and pain, but Arthur knew he would take it just fine.

Even if he did not, Arthur would not help, for he still bore a grudge in his mind. From a time many moons ago, back in the cafe, when the pair of them first met. Granted, Arthur had been awful about Duende without just cause, but Antonio had slated Spectre right back. He ripped the man’s reputation and ideals asunder, and in the following months he never found it in himself to apologise. At one point Arthur joked about it mid conversation, and yet Antonio still laughed in off, and told him where to stick his complaint.

“I want to cum.” Antonio sulked, trying to lure Arthur in false pity. “You’ve left me here for ages, untouched-”

“I’m doing it now, aren’t?” Arthur cut in, giving both nipples a pinch. A wicked smile graced his features when Antonio cried out, but despite his beautiful begging, Arthur would not satisfy his demands. All he did was brandish a thin chain from his left hand pocket next, a set of clamps he had been meaning to use sooner.

“I don’t want them.” Antonio huffed. Needless to say he had no choice, and watched Arthur set them upon each nipple, and tug the chain connecting them once complete.

“Is that better?”

“Of course not!”

“Pity.” Arthur sighed, stepping back. He located his trusty briefcase to safeplace the ruby, and in time removed a thick wad of paper, and a small black remote. “I suppose I’d better move on.”

“Arthur please.” Antonio gasped. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right here, with you.” Arthur replied, which was the genuine truth. Following a loving, tender kiss he somehow encouraged the gag back inside Antonio’s mouth, and in reward set his hand firmly upon Antonio’s crotch. Albeit hard to move Antonio bucked eagerly against the touch, and Arthur permitted it, admiring his partner in the throes of passion.

Antonio, for all of his mood swings, was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature he ever met. From the way they held hands in the streets, and shared a candlelit bath, Arthur loved it all. He actually liked it when Antonio became angry because it was honest, and would enjoy the cuddles they shared after an argument. Best of all Antonio was completely liberated in his presence, and felt no shame in grinding repeatedly against his hand, and moaning sweetly behind his gag.

“This won’t be for long, promise.” Arthur uttered, then pulled his hand away. As expected Antonio huffed in displeasure, but when Arthur raised the paper to his eye level he stopped, and his brows knitted tight. For reasons best left unknown, Arthur had written a list as long as a saga, starting with the theft of the ruby, and ending with a crudely written _‘bang Antonio senseless’_.

“As you can see, I’m a very busy man.” Arthur teased. “And this great work is my plan for tonight-”

Arthur swore he heard Antonio cursing then, before his eyes sparked with unspeakable rage. Apparently he recalled their conversation in the cafe after all, namely his insults towards bland, picky Spectre, and made every effort to conjure some kind of plea behind his gag.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but you get it.” Arthur laughed. “I am, after all, a boring man. I cannot function without these things. Nor can I possibly make you happy until this is complete.”

Antonio’s protests grew louder then, but Arthur silenced them by grabbing his crotch.

“Be a good boy and stay here.” He explained, nodding to his right. Although it was hard to see in the dark, the entirety of the gallery was lined with glass cabinets, and Arthur intended to swipe the lot. “Once I’ve taken all of these, I’ll take you.”

In any other circumstance Antonio would have been delighted. But on the contrary he rolled his head back, cursing the very thought. His clothing was too tight for its own good, the damn vibrator would not stop pulsing and writhing in his arse, and as if his suffering weren't enough, Arthur proceeded to tighten the clamps about his nipples, before announcing a job well done.

After that, Arthur took his leave, wandering off into the darkness. Perhaps he really was as cruel as people claimed, but no matter. He carried out his duties with caution, and controlled the vibrator with his trusty remote. When things became too quiet he shoved it right up on the highest setting, and when Antonio sounded ever so close to release he sent it straight back down.

Antonio would probably murder him when he was free from his chains. He might threaten to break his leg, or call the police, or even better he would inflict the same, pleasurable fate upon Arthur. Whatever the outcome Arthur prayed hard for the latter, until his breath became lodged in his throat, and his trousers became tight with desire.

By the time he reached the third cabinet, Arthur was struggling to walk. Quite frankly it was his own damn fault, but still he persevered. On and on he went, until Antonio let out the loveliest, melodic cry he had ever heard. It rang through his ears clear as day, and stirred his needs up so fierce that he promptly closed up the next cabinet, abandoning it for good.

All of a sudden his mind went blank. Devoid of greed for gemstones, and the fame both thieves earnt in their heists. At the end of it all only Antonio mattered, and no amount of money could replace the joy, and the love, he brought.

“Fuck it all, I’m coming back!” Arthur announced in defeat, waddling back across the hall like the horny, rotten bastard that he was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fin. \o/ Again, massive thanks for reading.
> 
> Originally I had Persona 5 to thank for this, but Antonio's final costume is pretty much Bayonetta, so take the image and run wild.


End file.
